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Mary May was the second daughter of Joseph Goddard, 
of Brookline, and was born in that town, December 15, 1787. 
Her mother was Mary Aspinwall, also of a well-known and 
much esteemed Brookline family. She had the plain and 
wise rearing and education of an intelligent farmer’s family, 
in which the parents were examples of industry, prudence 
and uprightness, good citizens and neighbors, useful mem- 
bers of society, and habitual attendants through life at the 
Sunday religious service. The children were numerous ; 
the father’s steady industry and the mother’s wise economy 
were the only sources of support; and so Mary was taken, 
when about thirteen years old, into the family of her uncle, 
Nathaniel Goddard, of Boston, —a prosperous merchant, — 
becoming the elder among the children of the house. It was 
a loving home and good school for her, and she tried to 
do her duty in it. Here, too, she had access to a better 
school-education than she could have had in Brookline. She 
always spoke of her uncle and of his family with respect and 
affection, and her interest in them continued unchanged 


A 


through life. At their handsome and attractive residence in 
Summer Street she was married, July 19, 1809, to Samuel 


May, a merchant of Boston, and a resident there from his 


birth to his death. Soon after his death,— which occurred 
February 23, 1870, at the age of ninety-three years and up- 
ward, — her own strength being much impaired by a recent 
severe illness, she ceased to be the head of a home which, for 
more than sixty years she had made such, in its best sense, 
to all her descendants, and to many besides, and became an 
inmate of the family of her younger daughter, Abby W. May ; 
in which she continued until her death, which occurred 
March 17, 1882, at the age of ninety-four years, three months 


and two days. 


At the funeral services, which took place at the house, 
in Exeter Street, on Monday, March 20, all her children 
were present, all her grandchildren except two,— who were 
detained by illness or distance of residence, — three of her 
great-grandchildren, a sister, a brother, numerous other 
relatives, and a few intimate friends of her old age. At 
noon thé Rev. Frederick Frothingham, of Milton, a near con- 
nection, opened the services by reading from the Scriptures. 


Understanding that Mrs. May had expressed the wish, before — 


his death, that Rev. Nathaniel Hall, of Dorchester, should 
officiate at her funeral, Mr. Frothingham made use of one 
of Mr. Hall’s manuscript selections, nearly as follows : — 


5 


The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh 
me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside 
the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me 
in the paths of righteousness, for His name’s sake. Yea, 
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 
I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy 
staff they comfort me. 

miven to old age, saith the Lord, ‘I am He; and even 
to hoar hairs will I carry you. I will gather thee to thy 

fathers, and thou shalt be gathered to thy grave in peace.’ 

Then shall the dust return to the earth, as it was; and the 
spirit shall return unto God who gave it. 

To die is gain. For we know that if the earthly house of 
our tabernacle be dissolved, we have a building from God, a 
house not made with hands, eternal, in the heavens. 

God is not the God of the dead, but of the living; for all 
live unto Him. 

There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. 
And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall 
also bear the image of the heavenly. 

It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: it 
is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory: it is sown in 
weakness ; it is raised in power: it is sown a natural body; 
it is raised a spiritual body. 

For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this 
mortal must put on immortality. | 

‘I am the resurrection and the life,” saith the Lord 


6 


Jesus; ‘he that believeth in me, though he were dead yet 
shall he live: and he that liveth and believeth in me shall 
never die.’ : 

‘Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, 
believe also in me’ — 

‘In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were 
not so, I would have told you. Behold, I go to prepare 
a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, 
I come again, and will receive you unto myself; that where 
I am, there ye may be also.’ 

And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor 
crying — neither any more pain; for the former things have 
passed away. 

Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not 


appear what we shall be; but we know that when He shall - 


appear we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He 
is. And every one that hath this hope in him purifieth him- 
self, even as He is pure. 

Wherefore, let them that suffer according to the will of 
God commit the keeping of their souls to Him in well-doing, 
as unto a faithful Creator. 


7 


Rev. Samuel May, of Leicester, her oldest son, said :— 

“You will certainly be surprised to hear my voice at this 
time. Since my mother’s death I have learned that it was 
her wish that I should take part in these services. Sucha 
wish I cannot disregard, feeling sure that she never could 
have supposed that I would use the occasion for encomium 
upon herself. If now—among these friends—HJI try to 
fulfil her wish in some degree, it is in the hope of not 
violating, while I do so, the obvious rule which should govern 
him who speaks of one so nearly associated with all his 
life. I shall probably seem to you to fail; but I hope you 
will also be able to forgive me, since, in such a case, even 
ailure is preferable to disregard. 

“Her simple, busy home-life, however long, would seem to 
furnish no material for remark beyond her immediate family. 
But a really true life, consistently conformed throughout 
to a high standard, must always be a subject worthy of 
our thought. Is not such a life, in truth, the highest attain- 
ment we can reach? and the best contribution any one 
can make to the common cause of human well-being? It is 
important, too, to show, if we can, that the ordinary events, 
the common course of life, afford all the needful conditions 
of so living, and are themselves the soil in which the best 
qualities of useful and genuine character may find growth. 

“T do think — while I make no peculiar claim on her ac- 
count —that my mother’s life has been a consistently true 
one during all the seventy years in which I have known her, — 


8 


and true toahigh purpose. This purpose rose and broadened 
as she acted upon it, led her steadily forward, and inspired 
the new courage and faith which each new step demanded. 
I have no reason to think that it ever occurred to her that 
this purpose had in it aught unusual or worthy of remark, 
To her it was only an obvious necessity. This purpose, I 
believe, simply was to do her duty to the extent of her 
power, in the place where, in the providence of God, her 
lot was cast. 

“Only the first twelve or thirteen years of her life were 
spent in her father’s home. The next nine years were in 
the family of her uncle Nathaniel, in Boston, where she 
fulfilled her part in such way as to secure their life-long — 
love and respect. Of course she felt a great increase of 
responsibility when called to have charge of a family of her 
own. Then the full, serious —and also joyous — meaning 
of life came to her. Probably she made no formal resolu- 
tion; her sufficient purpose being to meet each occasion as 
it arose, and to be faithful in every relation she held. When 
one, in her later life, spoke to her of her various efforts for 
useful ends, and of the satisfaction she must take in remem- 
bering them, she replied that the greatest satisfaction of her 
life was in the thought that she had habitually stayed with 
her family at home. ‘Home is the best place,’ were words 
of hers familiar to us all. 

“In her treatment of her children there was nothing 
formal — no rule of rigorous precision. They knew her as 





9 


their best friend. Yet there was no weak condoning of their 
faults. If wrong had been done there was to be restitution, 
Or other amends, as the case might be. Disobedience 
was ever controlled and overcome Punctuality and fidelity 
in school duties were fixed household facts. Above all, the 
idea of a law of right, greater than any human wisdom 
Or power, was taught both by her precept and example. 
The daily prayer at the child’s bedside never was for- 
gotten; and, on Sunday afternoons, she gathered all the 
young people in her house to her side, and, in sympathetic 
voice, which secured their interest, would say, it may be, 
‘Come, ye children, hearken unto me, I will teach you the 
fear of the Lord. Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips 
that they speak no falsehood. Depart from evil and do 
good. Seek peace and pursue it;’ and go on to familiarize 
their thoughts with hymns and the like, which thus became 
a part of their life’s furnishing and armor. To one of them, 
whose mind had been alarmed by representations of great 
suffering in the life to come, she quietly said: ‘I do not 
believe that God-_will inflict any suffering on us in the next 
life, more than in this, which is not needful for our good. 
He can do us no wrong or harm.’. The words gave inde- 
scribable relief;—if se did not believe in those future 
terrors, and for such reasons, why should any one? Toone 
of her children, at a distant school, writing to her of some 
unusual plans of boyish amusement, she replied, kindly but 
firmly dissuading him from the project, ‘because,’ she said, 


IO 


‘TI am afraid you will be led to take some improper step to 
obtain the needful materials.’ In so writing she had 
touched, as with a needle’s point, the centre of what proved 
a serious peril to the school. Thus was she, in her little 
domain, a teacher of righteousness and truth, holding the 
standard high, and showing the danger of any compromise 
with wrong. 

“She was mother of several children when the discussion 
of entire abstinence from the use of alcoholic drinks came 
up in Boston, and the full truth of their evil effects was 
plainly told. She soon saw the vital importance of the 
“question to the welfare of every family, and to the safety 
of every person; and she also saw the necessity of action, 
prompt and thorough. In her home that action was taken ; 
for ‘the heart of her husband trusted in her,’ and he prac- 
tically approved the entire exclusion. In the sharp contest 
in Hollis Street Church caused by this subject, during the 
ministry of Rev. John Pierpont, they both were steadfast 
friends of that brave and great-souled man. 

“Another subject, bringing with it a much greater trial, 
came in her way. Soon after Mr. Garrison spoke his first 
words in Boston, the report of them was brought to her by 
her much-loved nephew, the late Samuel Joseph May, and 
she was not long in seeing that she had a duty here also. 
What she could effect was not obvious. On the contrary, 
she was freely told it was wholly impossible that she could 
do any good; that harm only could come from agitating the 


ret 


question. She probably did not say, ‘Then the pillared 
firmament is rottenness,’ but she did see the truth that lies 
in those words, and she resolved to ‘do what she could.’ 
At the least, she could say to all she met, ‘This American 
slavery is a vast wickedness, and this American people is a 
cruel oppressor of God’s children, and a perpetual violator 
of God’s laws ;’ and she could stand with those who would 
utter this cry aloud in every quarter of the land. Leader 
of her family in this also; standing alone for a time, but 
unanswered and unshaken. There was censure, and worse, 
of outsiders to be borne; but she bore it without retort, 
and went on her way. The joy of the final triumph was 
greatly saddened to her by the multitude of young and 
innocent lives laid down to secure it. Between herself and 
Mr, Garrison there grew up a strong friendship, which con- _ 
tinued and increased through life. 

“Before Rev. Theodore Parker came to Boston she had 
heard him preach, and had accepted substantially his 
ground. She saw, with him, that much had been fastened 
upon Christianity which did not belong to it; that it would 
be a good thing to let this ¢vamszent portion go, and thereby 
better secure and render more effective the permanent. ‘The 
life and doctrine of Mr. Parker were, we know, among the 
mightiest agencies which brought this nation to put away 
its sin of slaveholding. She was, through all the rest of his 
life, one of his truest friends, retaining her grateful honor 
and love for his memory to her last hour. Into what ‘solemn 





D2 


troops and sweet societies’ she has entered now, we fain 
would know, but can only faintly imagine. | | 

“In advanced age she did not tire, or) S@GKinamems: 
instance to excuse herself, when a just principle needed 
support, or a good work called for help. And thus she put 
her trembling hand, but with a stout heart, to the demand 
for justice to women. 

“Many run well for a time, then get discouraged or 
weary, and fall away. She kept her face set steadily 
forward. Faithful she remained to the end. The rule of her 
early life —to postpone herself until her duty to others was — 
done — continued her rule always. If this seems to indicate 
a monotonous life, it was not so in fact. If it seems 
improbable, I can only re-affrm my belief that it is essentially 
true. Herein, doubtless, she has done no more than many 
others. ‘Many daughters have done virtuously,’ and will do 
virtuously ; but to her certainly belongs the quite rare ~ 
distinction of having stood thus true, calm, thoughtful, loving, 
for ninety-four years. 

“Tf her life ever seemed to herself too long —as I think 
it did, sometimes, after she had ceased to be capable of 
‘doing with her hands’ —it did not to others. The wait- 
ing-time abounded, for them, in lessons impressing themselves 
on the memory, and sinking into the depths of their hearts. 

“We can be only grateful for the manner and time of her 
death. It was indeed long postponed—to an age which 


v3 


had been seldom reached by any of her kindred — but all 
its attendant circumstances were favorable and kindly :— 


‘And, watched by eyes that loved her, calm and sage, 
Faded her late-declining years away.’ 


Every ministration of duty and affection, at the hands, too, 
of many friends not of her kindred, had been close at hand 
for her, day and night. Much more—her own mind had 
remained unclouded, her memory without sign of failure. 
To the last hour of her consciousness she bore her friends, 
and their friends, in mind. She had scanned her past with 
an honest judgment; she was anticipating the future with 
trust, with reverent humility, and without fear. She was 
ready. No pang of suffering gave warning to others, or 
seemingly to herself. Only her head drooped upon her 
breast, and she had gone! What of bodily life remained 
for a few hours was only the slow stopping of the machine 
which had been ever run with conscience towards the great 
Master-builder. It was the gentlest of touches which told 
her to come away. It was truly ‘the angel death ;’ for 
God loved her and took her — took her to His side as gently 
as ever she drew child to hers. It seems something more 
than either hope or faith which almost makes us to hear 
the greeting of Him ‘who, above all temples, doth prefer 
the upright heart and pure,’ — 

“¢ Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou 
into the joy of thy Lord.’” 


14 


“T will read,” said Mr. May, “some lines just now put in 
my hand, written by one of her grandchildren :” —* 


IN MEMORIAM; MARY MAY. 


WuHite, from the snows of winter, flowers spring, 
And earth, awakening, doth with new joys sing, 
This cherished life, so old, doth but begin 

Its infancy. 


Not by the wayside bare she sowed the seed ; 

Greater than Faith or Hope —this was her creed, 

To lend her Lord, through brothers in their need, 
Sweet Charity. 


Of others’ burdens sore she bore a part ; 

The fetters of the bondman in the mart 

Her hands unclasped — they found in her dear heart 
Fraternity. 


In hour of need her country claimed her thought ; 

To do her share with those who battles fought, 

Into each comfort for the camp she wrought 
Brave loyalty. 


Faithful to cares of home, she deemed it meet 

To take Love’s footstool for her highest seat, 

Proving, like Mary at the Saviour’s feet, 
Fidelity. 


* Samuel May, of Dorchester. 


IS 


Compassed about with love, fearing no harm, 
Her treasures laid on high, under God’s arm 
She watched and waited for her call, in calm 


Serenity. 


Taking the well-worn path, for ages trod, 
We place thy form, dear friend, beneath the sod, 
Knowing thy well-earned meed is, from thy God, 
Eternity. 
MARCH 20, 1882. 
Rev. Frederick Frothingham, of Milton, then spoke : — 
“Who would venture to add a word to the tribute, so deli- 
cate, so just, so reverent, so modest, to a noble mother from 
a faithful son? That which no human lips could speak 
our hearts supply. We make it our own in their Amen. 
“What alone we may fitly add to it is our glad, strong 
thanksgiving that a life deserving such a tribute has been 
lived. And surely in that we may well rejoice and tri- 
umph — none the less, even the more, for our tears and 
our sense of bereavement and loss; as they attest, in their 
own way, how great the good that has been given. The 
word for this presence and this hour is not death, but life ; 
not final loss, but enduring gain; not break-down, but vic- 
tory. Even for this earth that precious life, whose visible 
outward term has ended, is not no more. One who filled, 
so long and so well, so large a place cannot in an instant 
cease to be. She still lives here, though men call her 
dead. She lives in the memory, the thought, the heart of 





16 


those who loved her. She lives in the lives she has helped 
to mould and guide. She lives in those bound to her by 
the closest and most living ties known to this world. She 
lives in those still .remaining here whom she has served 
and blessed. She lives in the great and goodly works — 
which her hand helped to bring to pass. She lives in the 
power of her high and beautiful example, that example 
glorified now by the transfiguring touch of death. What glad, 
steady, rich, unstinted service she gave! She gave, how 
truly, where need was! Her hand put once to the plow, 
she looked not back. Verily she did much. She was 
much, And this was not because of ostentation and pub- 
licity — rather in the quiet of a life that shunned display 
—but because of the unselfish readiness and wholeness of — 
her devotion. She could not give herself by halves. How 
strong and cheery the support she gave strong men fighting 
the battles of the oppressed, the tempted, the wronged ! 
Who can know how much of their effective strength came 
from this fountain? And what a wealth of tenderness and 
sweetness was at its source —yes, that -deep, undying love, 
whose fineness only they can know who were privileged to 
enter the inner circle of her domestic and home life, alone 
equal to the supply of that never-failing strength! With 
what benignant, abiding shining that love blessed those 
near and far! And it went forth to shed its benediction on 
many who never might know whence that benediction 
came. <A beautiful reward was her happy portion here. 


17 


The glorious deliverance which came to the enslaved not 
only, but to the nation and mankind, and an old age of — 
serene and growing beauty, which at last bore her— with 
a quiet trust in her heart, no terror at death, no decay of 
mental life, no obscuration of faith, or gladness, or love— 
silently and gently into the great mystery which is before 
us all. 

“A life thus through more than four and ninety years 
keeping its steadfast upward way, achieving the victory of 
faithfulness, and arriving at such finished beauty for the 
hour of its translation—is it a matter for tears, and not 
rather for deep and grateful triumph? A dear young 
voice, speaking out of its sense of loss, said to me this 
moemme isnt it sad?’ It zs sad to the child, who 
misses henceforth the love that has been joyfully lavished, 
and, in its inexperience, and in the safety of its parents’ 
protection, sees and knows nothing of the perils which 
beset the noble life, and how hard it is to win its victory. 
But may not they who have learned something of what 
is needed to make a truly-conquering life well cry out, — 


‘Nothing is here for tears,’ 


but much, rather, for the joy which sings: ‘Bless the Lord, 
O my soul. And aé/ that is within me bless His holy 
name’? For surely here we have a new, beautiful gift 
from Him, in a noble, life again achieved. Here it is— 
a fact, beyond gainsaying — fulfilled before our eyes, in 


18 


our own circle, in our own day and time, and that cannot 
be taken from us. Here it is, ‘which we have seen with 
our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have 
handled,’ as it were, a portion of ‘the Word of life.’ What- 
ever question or doubt we may feel at the story of other 
goodly lives, we feel it not here. The great work of 
building a noble life has again been done. Again has its 
possibility been demonstrated. And that finished work 
stands before ws,—in the grandeur of its many years and 
the beauty of its final days,—speaking to ws most special 
words, whose appeal we may well take home. 

“Now it has come to death. In that solemn presence 
we stand to-day. But if this be to die, pray what is it 
to live? It is not death! say, rather, it is life in death, 
Behold the serene, still face as it lies in the last earthly 
repose, and say if that speaks of death? To be no more 
— extinguished — blotted out forever? Did her life expect 
that? did her thought? did her trust? Hers? that brave, 
strong, earnest, devoted, loving woman’s —as full of resolute 
life the moment the death-shadow fell as at any moment 
in all her course? Nay! She did not feel that she was 
born to die. She looked forward to a new place and 
sphere awaiting her in the onward life. Dead? and yet, 
as we have seen, so livingly alive even here! Shall such 
power abide as remains behind her here, and shall it con- 
tinue while those who knew her live, and she, under God, 
and because of God, its living centre and source, be no 


19 


more, forever? Let those think so who must, or who 
prefer ; a preference which kills the heart of faith and 
hope, and does needless wrong to the highest human life. 
But no such word can be spoken here, as the word of either 
her lips or her life. Both spoke of life —life here, life 
hereafter. Here, rather, we recall those wondrous words: 
‘I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in 
me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And he that 
liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’ Too livingly 
did she enter into and was possessed by the Christian 
faith to give room to any lower or narrower thought. Nor 
let us do so. MHearken we rather to the voice of the 
largest, highest, best within us. Till God command, let 
us do no otherwise. Since He leaves wide open the door 
for our choice, and by high argument invites thereto, let 
us take the nobler and not the baser choice. With faith 
in that, let us look forward for her and for ourselves. Be- 
hold her, then, as entered into a new and onward realm 
of God’s universe, with all the wealth of life’s experience 
enriched, the answer to life’s prayer opening to her, and 
she ready and eager for the service of the new sphere 
which greets her coming. Into it we cannot follow, as 
yet, save with our thought, our hope, our prayer, our trust. 
For as yet 


‘We have but faith: we cannot know; 
For knowledge is of things we see.’ 





20 


But, blessed be God, we can, with all our dear departed 
ones, think of her as ours still, living, working, waiting, 
a power, an attraction, no longer in but above the earth, 
even in the heavens, to draw us heavenward.” 


The following lines of J. G. Whittier, slightly changed 
and adapted, were read by Mr. Frothingham :— 


“Thanks for the strong soul’s beautiful example, 
Who, in the vilest, saw 

Some sacred crypt or altar of a temple 
Still vocal with God’s law; 


“ And heard, with tender ear, the spirit sighing 
As from its prison cell ; 

Praying for pity, like the mournful crying 
Of Jonah out of hell. 


“Not hers the golden pen’s or lip’s persuasion, 
But a strong sense of right, 

And Truth’s directness, meeting each occasion, 
Straight as a line of light. 


“Her faith and works, like streams that intermingle, 
In the same channel ran; 

The crystal clearness of an eye kept single 
Shamed all the frauds of man. 


“And now she rests; her greatness and her sweetness 
No more shall seem at strife; 


21 


And death has moulded into calm completeness 
The statue of her life. 


““Where the dews glisten, and the song-birds warble, 
Her dust to dust we lay, 
In Nature’s keeping, with no pomp of marble 
To shame her modest way. 


“And round her grave are quietude and beauty, 
And the sweet heaven above, — 
The fitting symbols of a life of duty 


{»? 


Transfigured into love 


Mr. Frothingham further said : — 

“When he whom we call the wisest of men was about 
to die, one of his disciples, struck by his serenity, asked 
him to point out to them how they could secure a like 
serenity when their last hour came. He responded by 
advising them to charm every day the childish spirit in 
their breast that dreaded death. ‘But whence, O Socrates, 
can we procure a skilful charmer for such a case, now 
you are about to leave us?’ was the prompt rejoinder. 
Have not we the answer in the following lines of Mrs. 
Stowe —at least, those of us who, like our dear departed 
one, accept and rest in it? 


“We need that charmer, for our hearts are sore 
With longings for the things that may not be; 

Faint for the friends that shall return no more, 
Dark with distrust, or wrung with agony. 


PA 


“¢What is this life? and what to us is death? 
Whence came we? whither go? and where are those 
Who, in a moment stricken from our side, 
Passed to that land of shadow and repose? 


“¢¢ Are they all dust? and dust must we become? 
Or are they living in some unknown clime? 
Shall we regain them in that far-off home, 


And live anew beyond the waves of time? 


“¢Q) man divine! on thee our souls have hung; 
Thou wert our teacher in these questions high ; 
But ah! this day divides thee from our side, 
And veils in dust thy kindly-guiding eye. 


‘‘* Where is that charmer whom thou bidst us seek? 
On what far shores may his sweet voice be heard? 
When shall these questions of our yearning souls 
Be answered by the bright, Eternal Word ?’ 


“So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round, 
When Socrates lay calmly down to die; 

So spake the sage, prophetic of the hour 
When earth’s fair morning-star should rise on high. 


“They found Him not, those youths of soul divine, 
Long-seeking, wandering, watching on life’s shore; 
Reasoning, aspiring, yearning for the light, 
Death came and found them — doubting as before. 


“But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came, 
Pure, simple, sweet, as comes the silver dew ; 


23 


And the world knew Him not; He walked alone, 
Encircled only by His trusting few. 


“Like the Athenian sage, rejected, scorned, 

Betrayed, condemned, His day of doom drew nigh ; 
He drew His faithful few more closely round, 

And told them that His hour was come —to die. 


“¢QLet not your heart be troubled,’ then He said, 
‘My Father’s house hath mansions large and fair; 
I go before you to prepare your place ; 
I will return to, take you with me there.’ 


“And since that hour the awful foe is charmed, 
And life and death are glorified and fair ; 
Whither He went we know, the way we know, 


And with firm step press on to meet Him there.” 


Mr. Frothingham then offered a fervent and reverent 


prayer, and closed the services with a benediction. 


At Forest Hills Cemetery we gathered under the shelter 
of the great rock at the rear of the place of burial. The 
day was bright, pleasant and mild. It was a hard duty 
to put away the face, which told of so much love and good- 
ness, from the light of the sun and from our own sight. 
As we prepared to do so Mr. Frothingham said : — 

“In the beauty of the sunshine, in the dawning of the 
springtime,— the one speaking of the revival of the life 





write : 
henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, they rest rote A. 
labors, and their works do follow them.’ «Neither can th vy 


; re 
die any more.’ ” ee 


25 


[From the “‘ Christian Register’? of April 20, 1882.] 


MRS. MARY MAY 


DIED MARcH 17, 1882, AGED 94 YEARS. 


A social landmark disappears in the death of this 
excellent woman. Connected by birth and marriage with 
some of our oldest and most honored families, all her 
long life was passed in Boston or its immediate vicinity. 
Here she was born and reared; here she became the 
wife of a conspicuous citizen, with whom she lived in the 
closest mutual affection and respect for more than three- 
score years, surviving her husband over twelve years; here 
she reared, in all, motherly wisdom and devotion, her own 
large family of sons and daughters, who now rise up and 
call her blessed; here, to their numerous children she be- 
came the very ideal of a grandmother, and lived to give 
her benediction to a circle of great-grandchildren ; here, at 
long past the common period, in perfect peace and humility, 
and in unwavering faith and trust, she passed from a life 
full of good works to the larger invitations of heaven. 

In personal character, in the activity, usefulness and 
prosperity which attended her steps, in the respect and 
affection which she enjoyed on every hand, in vigor of 
mind and body, in warmth of heart and in all true woman- 


26 


liness, Mrs. May was a marked character of her time. Un- 
compromising rectitude was the conspicuous trait in her 
character. In every position, public or private, her one 
question was, “ What is right?” and, this determined, she 
saw but one course, and that she followed with consistency, 
and with the firmness which was a part of her Puritan 
inheritance. Hesitation in responding to the obvious dic- 
tates of duty she could not understand or tolerate. Very 
lately, referring to a public question, she said, with all her 
old, incisive manner, “If it is right, why do they not do 
cares 

This sentiment, in a mind so energetic as hers, made 
the animating principle of her life the welfare of her fellow- 
men. The reforms which she deemed right and wise re- 
ceived her frank approval, and secured her consistent and 
generous support, whether the multitude followed or not. 
She was an avowed and working abolitionist in the days 
when the word was a reproach and scoffing. She zeal- 
ously maintained the principle of religious freedom, and 
with her husband joined to vindicate it in the persons both 
of John Pierpont and of Theodore Parker. She was a 
consistent advocate of total abstinence, and a hearty be- 
liever in the principle of peace. She earnestly promoted 
the movement for equal legal and political rights for 
women. Local charities and improvements failed never of 
her cordial interest and help, and for the private appeal to 
her personal sympathies she had always the kind and 


27 


listening ear. But her clear insight and practical wisdom 
protected her in both greater and lesser things from the 
fault of indiscriminate giving. 

She had entire confidence in the power and safety of the 
truth. But her genuine kindness and tenderness of heart were 
a barrier to asperity, and made her the prime object of 
love and veneration in her wide family and social circle. 
And, with all her interest in public matters, it was charac- 
teristic of her that she always remained a private woman. 
Her domestic were as strong as her philanthropic instincts, 
and preserved the balance of her character. Her home 
was always her centre; and there she reigned, the type of 
the virtuous woman in whom the heart of her husband 
may safely trust. A loyal wife, a wise, loving mother, a 
thorough housekeeper, she proved the possibility of main- 
taining active interests outside the family, while sedulously 
discharging every obligation within it. Good order, good 
cheer, and a boundless hospitality marked her household. 
About the home where she presided there was a genuinely 
patriarchal atmosphere, as children and_ grandchildren, 
relatives of every degree, and friends, old and young, freely 
came and went, which makes it delightful to remember, — 
a picture which will not fade. 

It is pleasing that sometimes a career so truly noble 
as that of Mrs. May should be accompanied by the pros- 
perity which followed thers. She was not exempted from 
the trials of life, and they helped to make her the wise 


28 


and tender woman which she was. But, in a rare degree, 
happiness, abundance, and health attended her. They made 
her grateful — they did not make her worldly or selfish. She 
valued the world for the good that might be done or 
gained in it. Its frivolity she deplored, as she mourned 
over its sorrows and evils. She was sincerely religious, 
though without formality. To the last she retained her 
interest in all good works, and equally in the happiness 
of all persons who were in any way related to her. For 
the remotest members of her family, even for some she 
never saw, she had a warm thoughtfulness and a remem- 
brance that was surprising. Although her vigor of body 
became weakness in her latest years, her mental strength 
and clearness were undiminished. The same good judg- 
ment, the same quick thoughtfulness, the same responsive 
affectionateness, the same crisp utterance, characterized her 
up to the hour, undreaded by her, when she fell into the 
quiet slumber from which she was not to awake to earth. 
She was indeed “a woman nobly planned, to warn, to 


comfort, and command.” 











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